


"You're my Favourite"

by Aithilin



Series: Guardian Wolf [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves, Blind Character, Blind Noct, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Noctis had been asked the questions hundreds of times over his life. Nyx still thinks his answer is dumb.





	"You're my Favourite"

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [Fluffpocalypse](https://nyxnoctocalypse.tumblr.com/post/165381753552/fluffpocalypse-october-2017-prepare-to-die) over at [Tumblr](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Set in the same AU as [Leash](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11284821) and [Crown](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11298318).

“You’re my favourite.”

Noctis had been saying that for years, despite the huffs and nudges and little growls it earned him. Despite the way Nyx would intentionally disorient him in retaliation, pick him up like a wayward whelp and drop him off to sulk at his own disadvantage for daring to answer the age old question like that. For daring to compare him to some favoured pet. 

“What’s your favourite animal?”

It was asked more often when he was little. When it was easier to simply say dog, or cat, or chocobo and appease whomever was asking a child a simple question. It was asked more by young citizens now, who shied away from the great wolf seated at the blind prince’s feet, hesitant of the sharp teeth and too-clever eyes watching them approach. Even as a hand fisted in the thick fur at the wolf’s neck, despite the carefully concealed leash which could tether them together. Asked when there were children nearby who wanted to know that their prince was human— and not some wild fey from one of the fairy tales floating around. 

“Nyx.”

“Very funny.”

“It’s true.”

Now it was asked when the prince faced interviews, the questions carefully typed out and vetoed by Ignis before the crown’s PR department even glanced at them. It was always a ‘safe’ question— one that could lead into charitable works and projects that were all deemed acceptable topics in the rare moment the prince spoke with the media. Questions that could be led towards the constant presence of the wolf at his side, taken in the same stride as the royal Shields. Asked when his guardian either sat across his feet or stood at his back— a powerful shadow none were wiser for seeing in either form. 

Nyx never believed a word of it. Instead he teased and prodded, and smiled as Noct was taken out of his tower to be shown off as much as he could stand. He nudged Noct along the set paths and carefully constructed roles. He tugged at the leash twined around them both, as he carefully strayed a few steps at a time to test his charge’s courage. When he chased after the young man as he ran through familiar halls he no longer needed sight to navigate. 

“What about chocobos? You seemed to like that fancy one the last time we were out at the farms.”

Noct had been drawn to the birds as soon as he heard them, and in human form, Nyx guided the prince’s hands over the colourful feathers. Some official and farmer droned on behind them as Noct tested the patience of the birds, small smile— the shy one coveted by the media— surfaced as the bird gently returned the preening gestures on the prince’s hair. As Nyx guided and smiled and laughed when Noct had decided that he had a new friend in the amicable bird— a new steed being trained already for a blind prince who might never ride.

“This breed has a crest,” he remembers whispering, close to Noct as he rand that sensitive touch over the soft plume— over the down of the chicks and adolescents who flocked to the prince’s side for attention. Nyx remembers the careful touches, the softness in the prince’s movements around the birds. “I think Prompto would be jealous.”

He remembers those hands far firmer in his own fur. In his hair. Pulling, smoothing, teasing, playing. Noct would always rest a hand on him during the meetings he was coaxed into attending; tug idly at his ruff until he had an excuse to hold on as Nyx led him from the chambers and conference rooms. Idle touches and tests of his own patience as his human listened to the debate over reports he would never be able to read without Ignis. 

“Chocobos smell weird,” Nyx remembered the way Noct would grip his hand, or his sleeve as he led the prince up the steps to his place by the King’s side. The sweetness of the touch despite the steel in the boy’s spine. And the wry look any carefully muttered praise earned him.

“You like cats,” Nyx could point out half a dozen times the prince stroked his fur as if he was a pet rather than a wolf. In long, careful measures that would have been more soothing to a cat, but ended up just making him want to shake out his fur and swat the prince’s hands away. There were comparisons drawn up almost constantly— his movements, his silence, his habit of physically nudging his blind prince in the right direction with no shortness of affectionate exasperation when Noct still wandered off after a strange noise or smell or sensation elsewhere.

“Too small sometimes, and too fickle.”

Nyx and his pack had watched before as Noct grew frustrated as an affectionate cat wandered off for a hunt or new patch of sun. As they sat in gardens and the soft fur and calm purr left the prince lost for a moment as the focus in his world shifted again. 

Those were the moments like this, when Nyx would curl around Noct and let the prince rest against him. When they would stay as they were in the dull afternoon and he would listen to Noct breathe as he dozed. Hand fisted in thick fur. Breeze rustling the leaves above and around them as they both tried to drown out the sounds of the city around them and pretend they were elsewhere— somewhere more private, more wild. Nyx with his deep forests and deeper canyons, Noct with the images of Galahd twisting through his imagination. 

Moments like this, where Nyx didn’t need to be in his other shape to have a prince resting against him, all warm smiles and idle hands. Noct’s hands still found their way up to his hair, to his braids, to the beads and collar; the prince smiling as he listened to the stories of wilds and forests he would never visit. As he dozed to Nyx’s hand stroking his back and voice filling the space between them. 

“You’re my favourite.”

“Yeah, well,” in moments like these where Nyx would fight to keep the silly grin out of his voice, to keep his tone measured and soft and his hands still against the prince in his arms; “you’re my favourite too, little star.”


End file.
